The Secret
by Lady Juice
Summary: Instead of tracking down horcruxes with Harry and Ron, Hermione returns to Hogwarts at the request of their late Headmaster. There, she meets a boy she's never seen before, with a secret even she can't quite figure out. HG/TR.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Nothing is mine. All the characters belong to J.K. Rowling. The story/plot was borrowed from a movie called _The Secret. _Also, the beginning of the dream sequence was borrowed from/inspired by Stephenie Meyer's _Twilight_. Oh I am soooo unoriginal, haha. **

**P.S. This is a story that I'm republishing, so if it looks familiar that's why. I hope it makes more sense this time around even though it may still seem choppy (there were only 2 chapters up anyway). Nothing too dark, at times bordering on fluffy. Sorry for the mistakes. **

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Chapter 1

Hermione Granger was more than one-hundred-and-fifty percent certain she was dreaming.

Her first reason being, that, she was sitting next to her best friends Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, in a decorated Great Hall—which laid in ruins beyond simple magical repair just months before. Second, they were watching as Albus Dumbledore addressed the newly sorted first years and commemorated the seventh years, which included them. And unless she dreamt about the previous years' catastrophic turn of events, Transfiguration professor and Gryffindor Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall should have been at the podium instead.

Hermione turned to look at Ron who was busy tearing at a turkey leg; and with leg still in mouth, he sent her a quick sheepish grin before returning to his prey. Next to Ron, Harry was animatedly talking to Ginny Weasley, whose smiling eyes never left his.

Soon after, a series of head-ache inducing flashes and whirrs—courtesy of the one person capable of out-snapping Rita Skeeter's personal photographer—obstructed her line of vision. _Colin Creevey_, she thought without a hint of annoyance and laughed as her eyes strained to focus on the boy, frenziedly taking pictures of Harry from where he sat.

Further down the table sat the Weasley twins, Fred and George. They were offering a first year some sort of purple gumball-like thing—she wouldn't accept it if that were her. But instead of a knowing laugh, a sad smile touched at her lips.

The scene before her was much too nostalgic. She couldn't remember the last time they all sat together like that and Merlin knows when they'll be able to do so again. And so she allowed herself a few silent tears, and a sliver of a foolish hope. Hope, that this wasn't a dream.

After collecting herself, she let her gaze hover over their table a bit longer, going from one person to the next with restrained anticipation before moving onto the other tables.

A gasp caught her as she spotted Cedric Diggory at the Ravenclaw table next to Cho Chang. It sent her heart into a brief period of erratic thumps—which had nothing to do with attraction, but relief, mind you. And little by little, the weights on her chest were lifted as she became aware of the other familiar faces that had escaped her previously.

She sighted her former professors Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody and Remus Lupin at the high table. She also saw Sirius Black standing next to the latter, looking rather healthy, and well, clean.

Everyone was accounted for. Everyone was still there.

Maybe this wasn't a dream after all? Maybe reality had been a dream all along?

_A very long and arduous nightmare, to be exact_.

Even though Hermione had allowed herself that sliver of hope, the reason and logic that ruled her wouldn't have any of it.

She shook her head, battling denial.

Remus was sacked—after she had let slip his condition in the Shrieking Shack—their third year; Mad-eye Moody was never a professor at Hogwarts to begin with; and of course there couldn't possibly be two D.A.D.A. professors at the same time; Harry had brought back Cedric's corpse to an oblivious crowd at the end of the Triwizard Tournament; Fred and George haven't set a foot in Hogwarts since their fifth year, the day they left the Great Hall with an array of fireworks trailing behind (besides, they were years ahead of them, so they shouldn't have been there at all); Sirius, died during last year's battle, though his body was still unaccounted for; and Dumbledore . . .

A lump formed in her throat.

_Dumbledore . . ._ was murdered by Severus Snape.

Fate's impending presence grew with each insight and the Great Hall darkened consequently. It was as if a shadow had been cast over the castle, with flashes of green being the only source of light that allowed her glimpses of the now, chaotic hall.

"Not again," she whispered. Tears of anguish flowed freely down her cheeks as she gripped onto the cloth above her chest. She couldn't breathe.

_How could I have been foolish enough to think . . . _

Something was happening near the high tables, pulling her out of her thoughts. All around her, people had stopped to stare. Hermione slowly followed suit.

What she saw next made her heart sink even deeper.

At the podium, Dumbledore was being bound by a black cloak sprouting from his feet. It snaked around his body until all that could be seen was his mummified silhouette. Hermione held her breath as the cloth began to loosen and unravel. When the cloak's hood reopened—where Dumbledore's face should have been—Voldemort's ashen one came into view.

Piercing cries filled the hall as many of the younger and the cowardly, ran for the doors only to be blocked by more dark-hooded figures, Death Eaters. The brave few swiftly pulled out their wands and assumed a defensive stance as they proceeded to throw curses. At the same time, several Slytherins took to _his_ side to counter.

Streaks of colored light continued to whizz past Hermione. But they did nothing to avert her gaze from the ground blanketed with corpses.

Amongst the hundreds that decorated the hall, she recognized Professor Burbage, Colin, Fred, Mad-Eye Moody, Remus, Tonks, Hedwig, and Dobby. She tore away from the bodies hoping that the images would disappear, only to have one more permanently burned in her memory.

Hermione looked up just as Snape shielded Harry with his own body from Voldemort's fast approaching curse.

"No!"

Then everything went dark.

"Hermione!"

She felt cold hands pressed against her cheeks.

"Hermione, are you alright?"

"Harry? Are . . . am I dead?" she whispered, eyes still closed.

"Blimey, Hermione!"

That sounded like Ron.

"_Please_ don't tell me Ron's rubbed off on you." Harry laughed, but she heard the strain in his voice. "Open your eyes will you?"

Hermione opened her eyes slowly, bracing herself for the bright morning light. But to her surprise, it was still dark, with a single candle flickering atop her bedside table.

"What happened?" she asked, feeling a bit disoriented.

For the moment, the dream slipped away from her memory.

"What happened? Why are you staring at me like that?" She needed a moment to organize her thoughts and their worried faces did nothing to help. It bothered her to see them more unsettled than they should've been.

"Well, Hermione," Harry sat on the edge of her bed, "You kind of scared us."

"_I _did?" she asked them, not quite sure about what they were getting at.

"We were on our way to wake you when we heard you scream," said Harry.

"Yeah," nodded Ron. "We thought that something might've happened to you."

"That someone, one of _them_, had managed to find a way in," added Harry, looking very much relieved that hadn't been the case. "Ron was so scared he almost pissed his pants," he snorted.

"It wasn't cause of that," said Ron, defensively. "It was cause you looked like you were – like you were . . . Hey wait a minute, I didn't almost-"

"You just looked like you were in so much pain_,_" interrupted Harry.

"Oh . . . I thought . . ." Hermione let out a sigh of relief. "I'm fine, really." She forced a smile and hoped they wouldn't be able to see through it. It was coming back to her now—the dream.

She pulled her tangled bed hair into pony tail and decided against telling them about it. Now was hardly the time to discuss the contents of some silly dream when there were more important matters at hand.

"Look, it was just a stupid nightmare." Hermione smiled more encouragingly this time, as not to worry them.

"Hermione," Harry began in a serious tone. "I've had way more than my share of unconventional nightmares to call _that_ 'just a nightmare'. I think we should look into it."

"It was nothing, really." She thought something up quickly, "just a dream about not being able to take the N.E.W.T. examinations this year." It was a lie and Hermione knew they'd catch it, well, at least Harry would. But to her relief, he didn't press any further. He knew well enough not to test her patience.

"_I told you_ Harry," Ron said smugly and Hermione rolled her eyes.

Harry stood up suddenly, though he was still clearly unconvinced. "Well then, you should get dressed soon, Hermione."

"What do you mean. . ." Hermione wondered why they were rushing her; it was usually the other way around. Then intuition kicked in—they weren't telling her something. "What's going on?" she asked the boys, looking from one to the other. "We haven't decided on anything yet."

She clearly remembered their conversation last night. She could recite it word for word if prompted and they definitely hadn't brought up the prospect of leaving so soon. No one even mentioned _leaving _in the least. There were several Death Eaters still skulking about, beyond Number Twelve Grimmauld Place and the Floo network was sure to have been rigged by then.

Harry sent Ron a look of plea.

"You're better with words, mate," said Ron with finality as he crossed his arms. "Sorry."

Harry sighed in defeat. He ruffled his hair, out-of-habit, as he searched for the right words. "You see, Hermione, why we came to get you . . ."

With his forefinger, he pushed at the bridge of his glasses, but they weren't even sliding down. Hermione knew that Harry only did that whenever he was nervous or fearful about something and times like those were ever so rare. Something was up.

"Uhm . . . Well, you went to bed first last night and. . ." This very early morning, Harry wasn't any better with words than Ron normally was.

Hermione gasped and her eyes narrowed. "You guys went on and made a decision without me."

"No, it's not like that!" he pleaded.

"Then explain quickly Harry." She propped herself up against the headboard, trying her best to stay calm.

"Professor," Harry shook his head at the fumble, "I mean, Headmistress McGonagall contacted us."

Hermione pushed herself up quickly. "But, that's impossible! There's no way . . ."

"_Listen_ Hermione," Harry bade.

After he received a compliant nod from her, he continued. "She was able to contact us through one of the vacant frames here that connects to another one in Hogwarts. I'll explain how _later_."

Hermione nodded again, though resentfully. She really wanted to know how, _now_.

"After Dumbledore's death, when the Death Eaters had all gone, somehow the castle's weakened magical defenses increased ten-fold . . . of the original." Harry paused.

At the sound of Dumbledore's name, Voldemort's decrepit face flashed across Hermione's mind causing her breath to falter.

_Stupid dream,_ she thought with the slightest growl.

Harry continued. "No one's sure how or why exactly, but it's a lot stronger than when Dumbledore was alive."

"Yeah, Hogwarts is now the safest place to be," said Ron longingly. "I don't see why we can't just stay there until . . ."

"Ronald," said Hermione as she sent Ron a reprimanding look. "It defeats the purpose. Do you really think that they'd allow us leave once we're there?"

When Ron showed no signs of a response, Harry continued. "After that, McGonagall discovered a letter addressed to her from Dumbledore. In it were his last wishes. The first of which was to keep Hogwarts open so that students could return, not so much to continue studies as for protection. So, the Order has been helping her with that by delivering letters to each student's home, in the guise of Muggle post instead of through owls."

"Less conspicuous," said Hermione who was very impressed with the chosen method.

Harry nodded. "Yeah, and the letters are charmed so that only the addressed can read its contents. If anyone else, like a Death Eater, were to open it, it would read something completely different."

"Beats me why they only thought of doing that now," mumbled Ron.

"That's because muggle post takes longer to deliver than owl," explained Hermione. "It must be similar to how the Marauder's Map works?"

"Yes, except you don't need a wand to activate it," answered Harry.

Hermione nodded thoughtfully at Harry who was now scratching at his nape. She raised a brow at him, there seemed more. "Out with it, Harry," she said sternly.

"Well . . . OK." Harry briefly glanced at Ron, "Dumbledore's second wish was for you to be Head Girl."

"That's odd." Hermione mused to herself for a moment. "We're going to be hunting down the remaining Horcruxes. He should have known that." She frowned. "I'm _sure_ he knew."

"_We_ still are Hermione." Harry looked at her, guilt apparent on his face.

Ron avoided eye contact by studying the patterns on the wooden door.

This was completely unexpected. She looked at them with incredulity as she rephrased his statement. "You mean _you_ and _Ron_."

"Hermione, you know that we wouldn't dream of this without you," said Harry in vain attempt to lift her spirits. "But even McGonagall was adamant on having you return. It was like she knew we weren't going back. We couldn't ask too many questions about why because it'd give away our intentions. Hermione," he looked her straight in the eye, "before you say what I think you're going to say, reconsider. It's Dumbledore's last wish. I think we should at least honor that."

It was just like Harry to act the hero, to find a way to keep his friends safe at the cost of carrying this great burden alone. Hermione was touched, but remained unyielding in her decision.

"But, you're not going back, right?" asked an anxious Ron. "I told Harry you wouldn't do that to us. You're our brains; you know we'd _die_ without you!"

"Of course I'm not," she huffed. "Do you really think that would keep me from helping track down the Horcruxes?" She raised her hands in exasperation and turned to Harry. "_Please._ Harry, your life—_everyone's_ lives depend on finding and destroying those Horcruxes. Hogwarts will survive without me as Head Girl, especially now that it's one of the safest places to be. They _can_ find someone else capable. You need me more; you don't have to do this alone. I'm with you all the way, regardless of the late Headmaster's wish."

Hermione looked at Harry earnestly, then at Ron. She was pleased to hear that Ron had been siding with her and couldn't help but beam at him. Sure, her response to Dumbledore's last wish might have been a bit heartless. But honestly, how could he ask for such a thing? She would never opt to abandon her dearest friends—sure to be presented with unexpected dangers in the days to come—for some trifling position at Hogwarts. Even if that was Dumbledore's last request of her, and as much as she respected him, she'd long made up her mind about joining Harry on this quest.

But Harry looked conflicted.

"What?" asked Hermione, puzzled by Harry's expression. Surely both he and Ron, if put in her situation, would respond similarly.

"Well . . ." Harry reached into his sweater pocket. He pulled out an envelope and handed it to her. "McGonagall said to give this to you in case you refused the title."

Hermione reached for the envelope--her name written on it in neat slanted script. The flap was pressed with a red seal bearing the late Headmaster's insignia. She stroked the seal with her finger a few times before finally breaking it. She unfolded the letter; it only had three lines—the greeting and closing included. Her brows knitted at the single sentence. And after reading the last word, the paper shot up from her hands and hovered about before finally burning to ashes.

"What did it say?" asked Ron eagerly.

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	2. Chapter 2

**Sometime after posting up the first chapter, I got in a car accident… And my uncle suddenly passed away a few days later. **

**It's truly unfortunate how many of us neglect to cherish our loved ones and only at their death do we think to show our appreciation. Life is too short. And for those of you who have yet to experience a loss (or car accident, which I hope you never have to), I hope that it doesn't take that first one to make you realize what is truly important in your lives. **

**I've learned many things since then, and have a whole new appreciation for this thing we call life. I'm glad to be back!**

**Thank you to classicmovielover, Lizzy likes the hot guy, Kimiko16, and Cyera for dropping me reviews. **

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Chapter 2

_Lives may be spared . . ._

Hermione raised her wand. "_Lumos_."

A ray of light illuminated the dungeon path before her. The 'Head Girl' badge pinned to her robes glistened as she quickly paced down the chilly stone corridor. She had no intention of staying any longer than was needed. This had always been the most foreboding of places within the castle grounds.

After a swift, but thorough sweep she made her way back to the set of steps leading out of dungeons. There were no Slytherins lurking about tonight—how utterly disappointing. She had hoped to expel some of the frustration she'd accumulated since two nights ago, and in a constructive manner at that. But this came as no surprise for hardly any Slytherins returned this year and only two or three were sorted into the house, at most. There was only one inevitable account for their dwindled numbers—and Voldemort was behind it all.

Hermione shuddered at the name, but continued walking onwards. The lone sound of her pattering steps reminded her of the unwanted solitude.

"What am I supposed to do?" she asked herself as she mulled over the meaning of the very curious message, the _warning_ that had compelled her to come back. She'd heard those words before, but in her third year it had been obvious what she needed to do—use the time turner to save Sirius and Buckbeak. But what was she supposed to do now that she no longer had the power to turn back time and make everything right again?

"Idiot," she said to herself. Even if she did have the Time Turner, it could only take her so far back, which wasn't far enough.

Hermione sighed, she felt more than displeased with herself. It was taking her much too long to put the pieces together (though only three days had passed since she'd received Dumbledore's letter). _But, _she reasoned, this was of an entirely dire matter, for the more days it took for her to find the answers, the more lives could be lost.

Feeling even more determined, her face contorted into a frown as she tried to fabricate different possible scenarios that justified her being at Hogwarts. Deep in concentration, she walked athwart the first-floor, straight towards the next flight of steps with her wand arm still extended, no longer paying much attention to her duties.

Hermione knew that an imminent attack on Hogwarts was out of the question. Firstly, Harry was nowhere near the school, which was reason enough. Secondly, the castle had become nearly impenetrable; she highly doubted that Voldemort himself could blast his way in when students were unable to walk one step past the barriers before finding themselves back at the castle's entrance (a surprise addition to the castle's improved defenses). Thirdly, there was nothing of value within the grounds that could prompt such assail, at least, that she knew of. And fourthly . . . she could go on, really. She switched tactics.

_Perhaps had I chosen to stay, during the search I . . ._ Hermione shook her head confidently. No, she would never _accidentally_ use the incorrect spell that would jeopardize their mission or lives in _any_ way. She prided herself with perfection and wasn't fond of haphazard behavior.

_Or, I get captured by a Death Eater and am tortured until_ . . . Again she shook her head of the thought. It was less feasible than the first. She'd choose death before the notion of betraying her friends ever crossed her mind.

Hermione generously replenished her lungs with air as her foot finally touched on the third floor. Upon the dismissal of several other scenarios, she grew increasingly doubtful of the late headmaster's judgment. But she reasoned he'd been spot on in the past, so it would probably be in everyone's best interest for her to have a little faith in him. It wouldn't be entirely ridiculous if she happened across a book that may hold the answers to all of their problems.

Her legs slowed as the thought suggested itself to her. Could it be possible that she had overlooked something in the library? Hermione's eyes widened. _Of course, the restricted section!_

She'd almost forgotten that she now had the privilege of waltzing in and out of the library's restricted section as she pleased. Hermione grinned, feeling quite euphoric for more reasons than one. She was nearly certain that Dumbledore had requested her return for that purpose—not because she would be a liability to the mission.

_Never, _she thought to herself assuredly.

She decided that that excursion would have to wait until tomorrow. She had a few more areas to patrol tonight and she could already feel the weight of her lids.

She let out a lethargic yawn all the while wondering what Harry and Ron were doing at the moment. She also hoped that the roll of parchment she'd left them—in which she'd written a list of all the spells that they could possibly need, or imagine (including their applications and proper wand movements) –was legible.

She climbed the stairs up to the fourth floor. Directing the wand light at all dark corners and stopping every now and then to inspect closed doors. A dozen or so doors later, she retired. She had reached the end of her designated patrol area.

"Finally," she said, as another yawn escaped her lips.

She had already begun walking back to the Heads' tower at a comfortable step when a faint sound brought her to a standstill. She tucked thick curls behind her ears to allow for better hearing, and then she listened intently.

_Music, at this time of night?_

It was coming from somewhere upstairs. Though it was where she was originally headed, Hermione wasn't pleased, as was apparent by the way she started up the stairs with a bit too much force. She reminded herself to have a talk with the Head Boy who had been designated to patrol the upper floors. But as she neared the source of the sound, all hints of sleep and irritation were swept away and replaced with curiosity.

_It's clearly a piano. But, that composition . . . it's unlike anything I've ever heard before. _

Hermione wondered who would be up at this hour playing the piano, and quite skillfully at that. Though, now that she thought about it, she couldn't recall Hogwarts ever having a piano anywhere on the upper levels. She was sure of it—given that Gryffindor tower was located on the 7th floor; she had spent many a day up there.

_It sounds . . . almost _magical_. _Hermione's footsteps quickened as the notes escalated. She was close, she could hear it—she could _feel_ it. Curiosity drove her faster, though it didn't take away from her initial objective—to send whoever it was back to their respective dorm.

The music had guided Hermione to the seventh floor where it no longer came from one obvious direction, but from all around her. Was someone playing a trick on her? Frustrated, and not knowing what to do next, she was left to stare at the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. _Hang on . . . It seems to be coming more from . . . _She tilted her head. _Yes, yes it is! There! _

Upon judging one side of the passageway to be slightly louder the other, she walked in that direction. But before she could take her fifth step, the sound had become more pronounced at the other end. Again, she followed. And once more back the other way, as the source was redistributed.

Then the music stopped.

She placed her hands on her hips. Either she truly was going crazy, or this had to be some clever, petty joke. Hermione groaned at the brick wall in front of her, and then took a step back as she noticed traces of a door forming before her, and finally, a knob. Her brows crinkled.

_The Room of Requirement?_

She took in a gulp of air, unconsciously brushing her fingers across the badge on her chest and reached for the knob. As quietly as she could, she turned it and pushed the door open; she wanted to give whatever prankster in there a good scare for making her feel like a lunatic.

"It's way past," Hermione stared at an empty piano bench, "curfew?"

She stepped inside the quaint room and looked around. The wall to her left was of an integral shelf with books galore. Several portrait paintings of renowned pianists were hung about and a couple of equally dusty tables with upturned chairs occupied a corner to her right. Towards the back, two large windows draped with white-laced curtains allowed her a view of the starry night sky. And the most pronounced feature of the room, which jumped out to Hermione causing quite an outbreak of shivers all over her body, was that it was absolutely and utterly . . .

"Empty." Her eyes flitted about the room a few more times. "I couldn't have imagined that, could I?"

She walked to the aged piano set at an angle in the center of the room. It was of a dark mahogany with intricate carvings wrapped around the legs, budding up towards its sides like ferns. Even its music rack was of a similar elaborate design. She circled it once, before deciding to take a seat, her back facing the corner where the bookshelf and door met.

_Beautiful,_ thought Hermione as she dotingly caressed the black and white keys with her fingers, then froze.

Someone was behind her. Impulsively, she slipped a hand under her robes for her wand, but didn't make a move to take it out. Her whole body tensed, not so much out of fear, but because she'd been caught unawares. _Good to know I haven't gone barking mad. _

"Do you play?"

It was a male voice. Young. Unrecognizable, but definitely a student.

"I'm sure you're aware that students are prohibited from gallivanting around the castle at this hour," she informed him, still very tense.

He chuckled, or something like that. "_You_ . . . sound a lot like McGonagall."

_He says that like it's a bad thing _. . . Hermione humphed and after deciding that he couldn't be much of a threat, she loosened the grip on her wand before finally turning to meet the voice's keeper.

She was right, _naturally_. He looked just about her age, a bit taller than Ron, except with better posture. Hair—the same shade as Harry's, just, well-groomed. And his eyes were brown like hers, but darker and conveying just as much surprise as hers. The boy was handsome, Hermione gave him that. But it bothered her that she didn't recognize him at all. One with a face like that would surely have been the talk of the school at one point or another. Then again, she thought, she never paid much attention to such talk.

He was leaning against a ladder at the far end of the bookshelf, an amused smirk ghosting his face. It was no wonder she hadn't noticed him when she came in, he'd been hidden behind the open door.

"I don't believe I've ever seen you around before," she said, eyeing him curiously. She looked for his house crest, but he wasn't wearing his robes. All she was certain of was that he didn't belong to Gryffindor. And Hufflepuffs rarely went a toe out of line, so she was sure that he didn't belong there either.

"Perhaps, for good reason," he raised a brow at her, then turned to the shelf to replace a book.

_A Ravenclaw, perhaps? _

"What house are you from?" Hermione asked, though it came out more like a command.

He placed a finger to his lips and teasingly replied, "It's a secret."

Irked that he dared taunt her, she demanded, "What's your name?"

"Secret." He sent her a smirk over his shoulder before slipping out of the room.

"Wait!" Hermione called after him. She hoped he would at least answer this last question which, she would later on come to realize, made her look like a complete idiot. "What's the title of that piece you were playing earlier?"

He laughed, not without a hint of mockery. "Gryffindors—all brawn and no brains."

And with that he faded into the darkness as the vein on Hermione's temple pumped with increasing ferocity. "Slytherin."

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**I know, I know... no such thing as a Heads' Tower, but I've always wanted to write one in, soooo there it is. **


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